


Before the Rains Burned

by skeeviejeevie



Series: Marisol Fics [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, One-Sided Relationship, Post-Canon, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 15:52:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14876789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeeviejeevie/pseuds/skeeviejeevie
Summary: When Marisol talks about the past, Hancock wants to ask her questions. He wants to make her forget about all the pain she's endured. Everything he wants, he never gets.Sole Survivor talks about her old life, oblivious to Hancock's feelings. If not oblivious, then uncaring.





	Before the Rains Burned

Hancock can already tell it’s going to be one of those nights.  


Marisol is a little more on edge, fluttering around the settlement, making sure every defense is top of the line, that every single bland settler’s happy with their life.  


Well, “happy.” Not happy like Marisol was, before the bombs fell. Before her family was stolen. Before the rains burned.  


Watching her gets tiring, so he heads to one of the cabins they helped build. They always share, even when there’s room. Marisol doesn’t like sleeping alone, and he’s never been one to turn down a lady’s request to sleep with her, even if it’s in separate beds.  


Dogmeat uncurls himself on Marisol’s bed to look at him. He pats him on his way to his own bed, where he sits with his back against the wall. He reaches for the Mentats in his coat pocket and pops one. Dogmeat sighs in response.  


"Like you don’t lick your own ass.”  


The dog snorts at that and returns to his curled position. Hancock chuckles a bit, pulling the brim of his hat low, settling into the high as he waits.  
It’s difficult to tell time on Mentats, but he doesn’t think he waits long.  


He hears Dogmeat perk up on her bed, feels Marisol walk into the room. She gives her dog a soft “hey buddy,” her armor clinking as she strips. He keeps his hat low and his eyes closed, not moving until he hears her slide under her blanket.  


He raises his hat then, shoots a look at her as he turns off the lantern. Marisol is beautiful. Muscled, dark skin, faded scars spread across it. Old World beauty meets New World merc, in the most disturbing and enticing combination. Unsettling eyes, dark brown, fierce. When Hancock looks into her eyes, he feels himself freefalling into their darkness. Pulled into something he’ll never escape.  


At the moment, those terrifying eyes are turned away. Marisol’s curled around her dog, petting him absently. Dogmeat sighs again, this time contentedly. Hancock turns off the lantern and settles into his own bed.  


Dogmeat’s the only living thing he’s ever seen her touch for longer than necessary. Marisol can’t stand the feeling of skin on hers, not anymore. Especially not skin like the wastelanders have, rough and permanently clogged with dirt. Unwelcome and unnecessary touching is met with swift violence.  


Hancock’s never touched her, not once. He likes to imagine that she wouldn’t flinch at his touch, recoil with disgust. Maybe she’d even welcome it. That daydream is too precious to ruin with reality. He knows she’s more likely to shoot him than accept his ruined skin.  


He waits for her to begin her story.  


While he loves when she speaks and often has questions, he never asks them. He understands the past is something only she owns, and she decides when and what to share. Selected slices of a life when she’s at her most nostalgic.  


She never talks about Shaun or Nathaniel. They belong completely to her, memories and thoughts not meant for others. More so now that she’s truly lost both.  


The only reason he knows his name was Nathaniel is because of the whispers. Nearly every night in her sleep, from the first night he decided to join her to last night. A part of Marisol remains frozen in that vault, reliving the moment she lost him. It’s gotten better since the Institute was destroyed, but it still happens. Probably always will.  


“I think the most frivolous thing I miss is the movies,” her voice is barely above a whisper, pulling him into her world gently, “The drive-in was the most wonderful thing to me as a child, hell, even when I grew up it was still special. All those beautiful people, saying such beautiful words. All their problems ending with a neat little bow after an hour or two.”  


She pauses. He wonders if she’s thinking about her own problems, her own ending.  


“When you went and saw a new picture, it was like…everything else could go away for a couple hours. All those ‘problems’ I had back then, they melted away,” she laughs, a sad little chuckle, “Don’t know if it’d work for my problems now though.”  


From there, she moves on to explaining her favorite films and actors. Plots and people he’ll never see. Things near everyone but her has no knowledge of.  


Marisol has the most wonderful ability to make people feel close to her without actually being anywhere near her. Whether she was always like that, or if everything that happened made her like that, Hancock doesn't know for sure. He suspects it's the latter.  


What he does know is that he's never felt so close and so faraway from someone. He knows he’ll die for her, or because of her, all while never really knowing her. She will be his ruination, even if she feels like his salvation.  


He’s okay with that, so long as he gets to see her every day.  


So long as he gets to love her.


End file.
